


Hope Can Be Cruel

by LizzieRimmsy (HardlightLibrarian)



Series: ER: Gant Lives [3]
Category: ER (TV 1994)
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Blood and Injury, Complicated Relationships, Foreshadowing, Gen, Guest Stars, Gunshot Wounds, Hiding Medical Issues, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Inspired by Music, Intersex, Medical Jargon, Mpreg, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Protective Peter Benton, Season/Series 05, Tags May Change, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardlightLibrarian/pseuds/LizzieRimmsy
Summary: Someone was round here asking questions about someone who looks like you. I said I don't know where you are.The ER has seen its fair share of gunshots victims, but nothing like this.FYI, this will not be for everyone. Read the tags and if you think you’re interested, by all means, go for it.
Series: ER: Gant Lives [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110461
Kudos: 8





	1. Anybody but Benton

The door to the apartment room flew open, badly damaging the small table and its surface contents behind it. It was the least of John’s worries. There, in the middle of the room, were three bodies, all of which still as statues.

Once again, he couldn’t breathe. As soon as he spotted the one man he truly cared about, John bit back a cry of horror, only just, covering his mouth with his hand. Dennis’ upper half laid propped up against the wall just below the window while his lower half remained sprawled out on the floor as if he were trying to flee. Two bullet wounds were visible on his side and shoulder, both on the right. Shot before he could get away.

Behind him came Mark, who also gawked at the crime scene for a moment before brushing past him. He checked all three men for a pulse, hovering longer on Dennis once he reached him.

Hesitantly, John’s asked in a voice as shaky as his limbs, “Is he…?”

He didn’t answer right away. It was tough to find a carotid rate at first. Eventually, though, he found it. “Got a weak pulse.”

John’s shoulders relaxed, and he gazed up, pressing his palms together in a praying gesture. He was thankful for the higher entity that he didn't necessarily believe in, but thankful nevertheless that they kept Dennis alive.

“He needs to go in _now_.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” John scurried to their side and scooped up Dennis with considerable effort, letting out a groan as he ground his teeth.

Doug staggered in at that moment, out of breath. “Ambulance is…” he started to say, then noticed John hefting one body and the other two on the bloodstained hardwood floor. It was enough to make him pause. “on their way,” he finished.

“Alright. Stay here,” Mark urged Doug. “Have them handle the other guys. Carter and I will take this one.”

His skin went pale when he caught sight of who John had cradled in his arms. “Wait, is that–?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” He spent no time in scrambling to hold the door open and stepped out.

Down the hall already, Mark looked back at him and frowned, concerned. He knew John was in no shape to do this, but he also knew he couldn’t talk him out of it. This was Dennis Gant, after all; someone John cared deeply for.

* * *

Mark held the main door open as John struggled to keep his balance. He reached out to stop him from fall, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet. The concrete steps were going to be a challenge. At the bottom of them was Mark. He lent guiding hands, holding them out as if he suddenly learned how to use the force and tried to keep him upright.

Little by little, John made his way down, then continued bustling until he arrived at the van. He signalled urgently for Mark to get the door. He could barely see past Dennis’ limp body in his arms; he wasn’t focused on much else to begin with. John’s eyes flitted across every inch of his partner’s face while he inwardly cursed him for several reasons, most of which paled in comparison to the situation right now.

The familiar sound of a car door opening told John he could lay Dennis down, and he did so with great care across the back seats, face down. He lifted his legs and slid himself under them.

John found himself staring intently at Dennis, beyond anxious. Frantically, he searched for a heartbeat. Still there… barely. He kept pressure on the wounds as best as he could. A whimper bubbled out of him, a sense of terror and pain rising up. As he looked at him, a voice came from the front of the vehicle. It was muffled. Even if it hadn’t, he would’ve paid no attention to it.

“Carter?” Mark tried again. It was no use. He got on his cellphone and dialled the number for the ER. “Randi? What’s open? We have a GSW to the upper right back and side. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

Ignoring the goings-on at the front of the car, through his hyperventilating, John whispered to Dennis over and over again, “Don’t leave me.”

The van started up and sped off, headed back towards _County General_. Mark probably violated multiple driving and noise guidelines in the process of getting, but this was more important.

Mark glanced over his shoulder to see John damn near losing his mind, and rightfully so. “How’s he doing back there, Carter?”

His voice got through that time. John looked up, only briefly, and in a shaking tone replied, “His breathing’s slowing down.”

“You know what to do. Twelve to twenty rescue breaths per minute.”

John nodded quickly, then gently lifted Dennis’ chin, opening his airway. Soon after that, he pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth.

Two minutes came and went. They arrived. For Mark, it felt like no time at all. For John, it felt like forever.

From inside the ER, car tires squealing and a horn honking could be heard, long and steady at first then frantic.

Carol looked to the other nurses and doctors waiting for them for an answer; as if they knew. “Is that them?”

“Only one way to find out,” Amanda Lee said, almost in a mutter, and rushed out. She strode to the van as she pulled on her latex gloves. By the time she and the others made it, she was greeted by Mark. Stunned by his presence, she uttered, “Doctor Green?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, then waved them over to follow him. “Over here.”

They headed to the front of the vehicle and stopped at the sliding side door. Upon opening, the sight and smell of blood was almost too much for them to bear.

Amanda tried to get John off him to pull him out. “Doctor Carter? You can stop. We’ll take over.”

He refused to leave, convinced that, should he lose diligence, Dennis would stop breathing entirely. Still, it was his best chance. There was only so many times John could breathe for him before he himself passed out. So, reluctantly, he climbed off of Dennis and stepped out, one foot at a time and traded places quickly.

Lucy and Haleh swiftly wheeled over a gurney, and she got closer to help move the man. Lucy disregarded who it was at first glance, but something caught her eye and made her do a double-take. Her breath hitched a moment. “Oh, God. Dennis!”

The name prompted Carol and Haleh’s faces to turn blank and white. They stared at one another, inwardly wondering if they heard correctly.

“How do you know him?” Mark asked.

“I just met him thirty minutes ago.”

“Alright, I’ve got him,” Amanda stated. “Can you grab his legs, Mark?”

He gave his answer without a word.

John hastened to step in and assist as well. It was either that or have a breakdown in the ambulance bay. At least helping would have been more productive and less embarrassing.

Nice and easily, they pulled Dennis out of the back and laid him on the gurney. His limp arms extended outwards over the sides, which John had moved so Dennis’ hands rested on top of his stomach.

He held Dennis’ hand for a while, hesitant to let go. All he wanted in that moment was to swap places with him. He’d gladly take a bullet for him, bleed for him, even die for him. Love makes you do crazy things, or so they say.

“Let’s get him inside,” Mark said.

As the gurney rolled out and into the ER, John’s loose grasp on his partner’s hand pulled away. He lingered in the ambulance bay, standing there, frozen. He could feel eyes on him, even though there weren’t any. Not that he cared. He felt numb to everything. The only thing that he vaguely noticed was his own tears pour down his face.

After a deep breath and a few little words to himself to boost his self-confidence, John finally ran in. It didn’t take long to catch up with them, as empty as the hospital was.

“Is there more on the way?” Amanda called out by the admit desk.

“Two,” Mark shouted back, halfway through the doors to Trauma Room Two.

“I’ll hang back and wait for the ambulance. You got this?”

“Of course we do. Haleh, get on the phone and get us…” Mark started to explain, when he heard John coming up from behind.

“He’s B-positive,” he told him.

“B-positive from the blood bank. And call X-ray and tell them we need them down here now.”

With a curt nod, Haleh hurried off to the nearest phone and punched in the number for the blood bank.

Just when they entered Trauma Room Two, right when Mark opened his mouth, about to list off what needed to be done for Dennis, John cut him off before he could speak. “He has decreased breath sounds on the right. Probably a tension pneumo. I need a chest tube tray.”

Mark frowned in concern. It was the last thing John should be a trauma, least of all a trauma involving Dennis for, technically, a second time, in his state of mind. Mark knew it, but there seemed little to no point arguing with him. He saw the way he looked at him, the undeniable panic in his eyes; there was no tearing him away. Instead, he went to get the tray for him.

“Blood is on the way,” Haleh announced as she walked into the room. She cast Dennis’ nearly lifeless body only the slightest of glances before looking at Mark and headed toward him. In a low murmur and a serious tone, she asked, “ _What_ is he doing here?”

Just as quiet as she spoke, Mark responded, “I know Carter’s too close to be in here, but he has a right to–”

“I meant _him_ ,” She jerked her head back in the direction of Dennis. “I thought he was dead.”

“Now now, Haleh…”

After Carol cut through Dennis’ clothes, exposing his right side for John to start the procedure, she noticed something. “I’m not seeing any exit wounds, you guys.”

“It’s okay. Worry about it later,” John uttered, mainly to himself, voice almost flat, devoid of any emotion. Not to say he didn’t feel a million things; he just didn’t want to show it. Somehow, he figured, if he could tell himself to focus on something else, he wouldn’t panic. It didn’t help much. “Can I get some light here, please?”

Mark reached up for the overhead light and angled it just so. It illuminated the doctor’s face, showing Mark just how pale and sickly he appeared. “Want me to take over?”

It wasn’t until John was handed a scalpel that he started having flashbacks. In his head he could hear Peter yelling at him to put the tube in and himself screaming back, “ _I’m trying_!” He tried on someone he didn’t know, but that didn’t make it any less real. It did not help that they were in the same Trauma Room either. John became as green as the tiles in the room. It also didn’t help to hear the alarms on the monitor beeping insistently, as if he didn’t already know something was seriously wrong.

“Carter?” Once more, Mark’s question went unanswered. He tried again. “Can you hear me?”

Not in the least. He was too preoccupied asking himself, ‘ _Why now, and why here?_ ’ His PTSD didn’t care what he was doing or when he was doing it. Whether it was two years or two days, the trauma he experienced would be just as significant and devastating as the day it happened. And it was just as significant and devastating. So much so that John became paralysed.

Grudgingly, Mark rounded the bottom of the gurney to be beside him, reached out, and as his eyes flicked from the scalpel to John repeatedly, Mark retrieved it from John’s hand.

A scanty lift of his eyebrows was all the movement he could muster. His expression turned to that of a frightened boy, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

“Anyone order some blood? Still had a couple of FFP’s from the last one,” Lydia chimed in out of nowhere with clear bags, one in each hand. She stopped dead, shocked by the patient in the bed. “Holy–”

“What’s the matter?” Haleh asked, subtly caustic. “Haven’t you seen a ghost before?”

Mark looked up from what he was doing long enough to shoot Haleh a chiding glance, then stared intently at Lydia and said, “Thanks, Lydia. If you could just,” He tilted his head to the rapid infuser at the back of the room. “stick it in there…”

“Y-yeah,” she stammered out and shuffled towards the machine.

“Chest tube is in,” Mark confirmed.

Suddenly, as if kicked in the butt to force to attention, John sprung into action once again. “Alright, I’ll intubate,” He scrambled clumsily to the cabinets for the things he needed, knocking over the empty chest tube tray as he did so. Immediately afterwards, he felt the heat of shame spreading through his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“I’ll get it,” Carol eyed him worriedly as she bent down to pick up the tray. 

“Maybe you should get some air,” Lucy suggested. Though she’d been given a scowl meant to say, _‘Don’t tell me what to do,’_ Lucy avoided it and continued to work on setting up IV fluids.

Voice cracking yet stern, he responded, “I’m not going to leave him.”

“No-one is making you leave, Carter,” Mark insisted. “but this is obviously too much for you. Take a minute, catch your breath and come back when you’re ready.”

John bit down hard on him with his gaze, frayed and impatient. It went unnoticed. Silence filled the air, save for the low blood pressure alert wailing on. At last, after five seconds of watching and waiting for Mark to change his mind, which seemed as though it would never happen, John submitted. Perhaps a pause from the madness would be a good thing.

“Fine,” he said. “but do _not_ call Benton down for a consult.”

“Carter–”

“I mean it!” Now he was becoming hysterical, terrified, more so than earlier. “Get Corday or Romano. _Anybody_ but Benton, or Anspaugh!”

“We will,” Carol soothed him, trying hard to keep his sanity from spinning further out of control. “They are going to find out at some point, though.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather they find out from me instead of walking in on this or hearing it through gossip,” John’s words came out blunt and sharp. He didn’t mean it to, but fear had a tendency to make him fly off the handle. Not to mention hormones were flowing freely.

“Tell you what,” Mark began. “I’ll ask for Elizabeth myself when we get a chance. Now go,” He added more syllables to the last word than necessary. Watching him storm out, Mark knew he shouldn’t be alone. “Carol, we’re pretty well covered here. Could you–?”

“I’m on it,” she interrupted, instinctively understanding what he’d ask of her.

Carol walked out into the empty hall of the ER, making her way to where she thought he might have gone. Sure enough, there he was, sitting in chairs, blood-covered gloves and doctor’s coat still on. Without another word, she settled herself down beside him. She would say nothing more, figuring John would speak up if he wanted to. He never did, so the two took a load off in stillness; John stared out at nothing in particular while Carol held a steady gaze on him. Neither of them had any problems with this. Sometimes, just sitting with someone was enough.


	2. Nothing to Worry About

“Is this the GSW you were so keen to have me down for?” Elizabeth asked as she stepped into the room.

“Yeah,” Mark replied with a faint sigh of remorse. “Sorry about that. Carter didn’t want Benton to see him.”

“Carter? Why?”

“Long story,” Mark whipped out the x-ray from the envelope and stuck it in the lightbox. “No bone fractures or spinal injury,” he noted while inspecting the scan, then pointed something out. “One of them is in the brachial plexus.”

“The other right next to the lung,” Elizabeth added. “Is the patient stable?”

“Stable as he’s gonna get. Pressure’s holding steady at eighty-two. We were lucky enough to get it to that point.”

“What’s his crit?”

“Forty-two…”

Elizabeth gave him a quick nod, signalling him to help her wheel Dennis out and up to the OR. “Alright, we’ll get more FFP on standby. Otherwise, the team’s ready for him.”

As they walked to the elevators, Mark spotted John down the way. He waved John over, but the gesture went ignored. He gave up and kept going.

The elevator ride, short as it was, held an awkward silence lasting half the time. It felt like forever. Mark and Elizabeth exchanged glances, simultaneously.

Eventually, she broke the stillness. “Does Peter know this patient?”

“You could say that, yeah. And his name is Dennis Gant.”

“Right…” she drawled out, deep in thought. “You mentioned Carter–”

“They’re together,” Mark’s eyes flicked to one side, considering his words. It didn’t occur to him that he admitted it. “I think, anyway.”

“Oh,” The news had her flummoxed for more than one reason, not the least of which being that he was even into men. Not wanting to pry about it, she moved on. Somewhat. “Are you worried about a conflict of interest? Because I don’t think there is–”

“Elizabeth?”

She looked right at him, without a moment's hesitation. “Yes?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Their trip ended with a ding of the elevator. Its doors slid open and out they came in a rush.

The OR’s nurse, Shirley, was there to meet them. She fully expected just another GSW; she didn’t expect to see a familiar face, however. Shirley didn’t say anything about it, but instead, she gawped at him briefly before helping transfer him to OR Three.

“Remember,” Mark urged. “no Benton.”

“I think he’s still in with the shoulder GWS that came in,” she said.

Mark pressed the button to head back to the ER. “His ex…” he mused aloud without knowing.

Her eyes narrowed as she stared curiously at him from half-way. “What??”

“Talk about it later!” he shouted back, just before the elevator doors closed. 

Finally, he could breathe without undue distress. It was hard for him, not because it was Dennis — he hardly knew him — but because of John. He worried about him and what this did to him. Mark could only imagine the state of mind John was in right now.

With a deep exhale, Mark leaned back against the wall of the elevator and closed his eyes. All he saw was the events replaying in his head, which was still hard for him to explain. Like one of those bizarre moments in soap operas, except this one happened. It was real. _Too_ real. He had no choice but to laugh, ironically.

* * *

Meanwhile, John did his best to keep busy. If he didn’t, he’d surely lose his damn mind. So, he sat at the front desk, reviewing charts; he didn’t have the brain power for much of anything else.

“Doctor Carter?” Lucy suddenly spoke, timid, as if scared of being snapped at. “I’m sorry this happened.”

John looked at her, a slight bit of wistful gratitude in his features. “It’s okay,” he replied with a weak smile. It really was not okay, but what else could he say? “Thanks for helping out in there. You did great.”

She could hardly believe the compliment she’d gotten. A compliment. From John ‘Defensive and Forthright’ Carter. A strong urge to use this as an opportunity to say, ‘I told you I’m good’ came over Lucy, but instead, she grinned, her face soft and happy. “Sorry, what?”

“I said you did great in there.”

Lucy smirked. “I know. I just wanted to hear it a second time.”

He rolled his eyes so hard, he could see his brain, then returned his attention to the charts. In the corner of his vision, however, he clocked Malik and Chuny staring at him like a pair of children waiting for their parent to turn away so they could finally misbehave. It was the fifth time he noticed it since he’d been at the desk. “What?” John asked, looking down at the papers in front of him.

“Nothing,” they answered in unison, big, stupid smiles on their faces.

Clearly, they missed the memo that a man was shot and dying. That was what he figured at least. In truth, they knew, but had no clue who it was, and, to them, it was nothing out of the ordinary. In truth, they heard the other news, and while Chuny was still in disbelief, Malik was already picking out baby onesies.

“Right,” John drawled, sceptical. “Lucy, remind me to stay away from the coffee today.”

“Which brings me to my question: do you want to go across the street and grab some coffee? You look like you could use a break.”

“Can’t,” he curtly responded, barely looking her in the face.

“Come on, it’s just charts.”

“No, really. I can’t have caffeine.”

Those words caused Jerry to almost choke on his own cup-o-Joe. A coughing fit ensued, and once it ended, he finally saw the puzzled expression on John’s face. Following a clear of his throat, he held up his hands as a sign of innocence, told him, “I know nothing,” then turned and walked over to the lounge to compose himself.

“Okay…?” John drew out the word and watched him quizzically. It then struck him. His once confused gaze went blank, and aimed a glare at Carol.

“What?” She responded to his fixed stare with a steady one of her own. “Oh, Carter, come on. I didn’t say anything.”

Intrigued, Lucy sidled up beside them. “Say anything about what?”

John ignored her question and, without breaking eye contact with Carol, he sharply said, “Well, _someone_ did!”

At that moment, a few unsubtle giggles emerged from Doug as he, too, kept his eyes on patient charts, missing the two of them scowling at him until he felt their eyes burning a hole in his head. Being so used to it, the silent anger and frustration didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Hey, I’m not the one who lied to you just now, buddy.”

Once again, Carol got a dirty look from John, meaner this time. “Okay, fine. I told Doug, but that’s it.”

“Thanks, you two,” John stormed off before she could explain herself, heading outside for air. Before leaving, he muttered under his breath, “Thanks a lot.”

Like a lost puppy following her owner, Lucy ran after him, calling out, “Doctor Carter?”

Carol flopped down in a chair, regretting everything in that instant. “Dammit.”

“It’s alright,” Doug rubbed her shoulder to ease her distress and the situation. “He’s not mad at you. He’s been through a lot today.”

“I don’t think it was just today, Doug…” Carol held her head in her hands, elbows on the desk, and breathed out a sigh of despair.

* * *

“Doctor Carter?”

John glanced over his shoulder and saw Lucy coming up from behind quickly. He let out a soft groan and kept walking. “Not now, Lucy.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you!”

“Is it about what happened with Dennis?”

“Lucy, for the love of God, just shut up about it!”

Despite the animosity between them, she continued to tread on his heels. “Sue me for giving a damn.”

On a dime, John stopped. He whirled around, a death stare still painted on his face. Seeing the determination and worry in her eyes, though, was enough to soften his attitude.

“What is it?” Lucy asked one last time.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know how. It was all so complicated, to say the least. But while she had him, and the offer still stood, he thought it best to avoid embarrassments outside the hospital and took her up on going over to _Doc Magoo’s_.

* * *

“That’s it?” Chuny asked. 

“Yeah,” Carol never broke eye contact, not even for a second. If she had, it would be impossible to convince them. All the other nurses in the ER had known her long enough to tell when she was lying. “Just a misunderstanding. You guys heard wrong.” 

“I don’t know,” Jerry pointed at her with the homemade brownie he had in his hand. “It would make sense. Normally, Doctor C. doesn’t have mood swings out of nowhere.” 

“Make sense?” Haleh echoed, almost insulted by how foolish he sounded. “In what world does Carter getting pregnant make sense?” 

“Maybe he’s non-machismo, if you catch my drift,” He paused long enough to take a huge bite of his snack and, mouth full, added, “I mean, we don’t know what he’s got going on down there.” 

“A piece of trivia I’m sure we’re all thankful to be lacking,” Haleh sighed deeply, abandoned the idea of ever getting through to him, and moved on. “I have a patient in Curtain Two. If anyone sees Mark or Lucy, send them that way.” 

Doug raised his hand as if to remind her. “I’m still here.” 

“Sorry, Doctor Ross. I think this one requires an adult, capable of adult conversation and not gossip.” 

Feigning being shot in the chest, Doug put his hand over his heart and slid down his chair. He could have said something about how hypocritical it was, except he didn't want anyone else angry with him. So, he kept his mouth shut and played dead. 

“Sure thing…” Carol chucked out. She then caught Malik, Chuny and Jerry staring at her, just as they did with John. “Guys, come on. Let it go.” 

“We will,” Malik grinned as wide as the Cheshire Cat. “If you tell us the truth.” 

“No!” 

“Just tell us if he’s…” Jerry moved his hands and donned an expression in such a way that made it seem as though he were attempting to solve an invisible _Rubik's Cube_. “a _he_.” 

Chuny squinted her eyes in affront on John’s behalf. “What difference does that make?” 

A hand — Doug’s — slapped down on the edge of the desk, pulled himself up and plopped back into the chair. Winded, he told them, “I can answer that.” 

“Doug, I’m serious,” Carol shot the others a stern look and denied giving them the answer before John even knew for sure what was going on. “Does he look like a guy, Jer?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Does he _sound_ like a guy?” 

“Yeah, but–” 

“Then there you go,” Carol shrugged so hard, her arms flopped to her sides. “He’s a he. A hundred percent male, not pregnant, discussion over, alright?” 

“He can look and sound like a dude and still have… you know…” 

“A house cat?” Malik hazarded a guess. 

She shifted her angry gaze to him. “That’s not funny, Malik.” 

“We’re not laughing. Besides, weren’t you checking out stats on intersex folks earlier?” 

Her tone was that of someone trying to sound absolutely calm and controlled. She was neither. “No.” 

“We saw you!”

Keeping this secret was as futile as carrying water with a butter knife — extremely futile. So with that, she caved, non-verbally. She groaned and leaned over the desk with her hands over her face once more. 

“I knew it!” Jerry exclaimed. 

“Nah, I don’t buy it,” Chuny had an air of disinterest about her. “You el bobos will believe anything. Men getting knocked up? That is the stuff of bad fiction.” 

“Hey, _Junior_ was a great film!” 

_Maybe I can save this_ , she thought, hopeful. ”It was out of curiosity more than anything else. You heard Doug wrong.” 

“But we–” Malik got cut off. 

She reiterated, every word coming out as a drawn out growl through gritted teeth, “You heard wrong. I am not talking about this behind his back.” 

Jerry scrutinised with narrowed eyes Carol as she stepped away. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m helping out Haleh.” 

“I’m sure she–” The leer she shot him shut him up right then and there. Jerry gave her a thin-lipped smile and went back to ‘work.’ 

Carol pushed the door open to Curtain Two. No patients were there. Just Haleh. “Needed an excuse to stay out of it?” Carol asked. 

The corner of her mouth pulled upward in a half-smile, which faded quickly. “I know we all go through people’s dirty laundry, sometimes more than we should, but this… felt wrong.” 

Surprised, Carol’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “You, the usual instigator of gossip, think this felt wrong? What’s the matter?” 

Though Haleh’s face was unreadable, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for the man; not as deep down as she once thought. Generally, she cared more for the other nurses than the doctors. It was a rare occasion on an already strange day. 

“I knew before anyone else,” Haleh admitted. “Carter signed out some HCG strips, even though he didn’t have any women patients that day. I figured it was for Roxanne. I didn’t think…” Her thought trailed off and left it there. 

“No-one would have assumed any differently, Haleh.” 

“Did he tell you what she said?” 

”Roxanne?” It was a question that kept gnawing at her, ever since John told her about it: does his girlfriend, if he considered her one any more, even know? Shrugging her shoulders, she replied, “I don’t think he told her.” 

“Oh, great,” she grumbled, her tone becoming the typical sardonic, irritated tone everyone expected out of her. “Who’s the father?” 

“Who do you think?” 

It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. When it came to her, she felt even worse. “Ohh, Lord…” Haleh sighed heavily through her open mouth. “No wonder he’s been acting strange lately.” 

The two women stood in contemplative silence for almost a minute. Eventually, though, something bonked them over their heads. 

Carol folded her arms and, without really thinking about it, perched herself on the edge of an empty gurney. “We’re gossiping, aren’t we?” 

Haleh slowly nodded her agreement, then her brow knitted together, debating. “Is it gossiping if we’re talking about how concerned we are?” 

“I don’t think so. No,” Carol folded her calves under her thighs and scooted back. “I mean, we _are_ concerned.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So it’s almost like we’re venting,” She still didn’t seem too sure of herself. “Right?” 

Neither did Haleh, but she tried to sound positive and reassuring regardless. “I’d say so.” 

Another silent pause, and before long, they changed their thinking. Venting their concerns or not, what they did was inexcusable, and no amount of reasoning could change it. 

As Carol jumped to her feet, she said, “I’ll apologise to Carter.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” she droned flatly in her throat. “Good idea.” 

* * *

“That’s not even what I’m upset about,” John admitted and let out a deep, trembling breath. “It’s the fact he could leave me again so easily.” 

Lucy leaned over her cup of coffee, both hands on the mug, and held a steady, intent gaze on him. “I don’t think he meant to. I’m sure he was just trying to protect you.” 

A sisyphean smile emerged upon his face. Finally, she struck a chord, and for a moment, the sadness faded. But only for a moment. The image of Dennis’ ex coming for him with a sharp object was still fresh in his mind, making it difficult for him to believe he did it out of the kindness of his heart. Of couse, he knew Dennis had no clue about that, but it didn’t make it any less blameworthy. It meant John had to fend for himself — again. The thought made him laugh ever so slightly, squaring his jaw, pushing his emotion away. 

“I mean, think about it,” she insisted. “he stole two-thousand dollars–” 

With a sharp tone, he exasperatedly retorted, “Oh, I know what he did.” 

She continued on despite being interrupted. “Which he probably did to be here, with you.” 

“So I should feel grateful?” 

“Feel whatever you want. I’m just saying, a lotta guys wouldn’t do that,” Jealousy gnawed at her heart with the thought of the two of them. She was happy for them, but also… not. And it actually pained her to admit, “You obviously have something special going on between you two. I can tell by the way you were looking at him in the Trauma Room.” 

“That was fear, Lucy.” 

“True, but you wouldn’t have been that fearful if you didn’t care about him, even a little bit.” 

For a long time, John didn’t speak. He just mulled it over, and over again. It was true, he did care, but he kept asking himself why. After everything Dennis put him through, why should he care? Why should he still love him? Why should he give him yet another chance? The reason John couldn’t answer these questions, he couldn’t understand the way he felt or what he wanted. Maybe Lucy was right, he thought. If Dennis went to these lengths to get to him, maybe he deserved one more attempt at this relationship, whatever it was. 

Lucy shrugged. “Maybe it’s over my head. I don’t know. But I do know he’s trying.” 

Nothing but further silence. John didn’t know what to say, too busy thinking. He stared blankly across the table, not at her but beyond her, at nothing in particular. 

Then, suddenly, he felt dizzy, despite not moving an inch. It made him feel weak, and almost forget where he was. For seemingly no reason, he began to hyperventilate. He opened his eyes wide, then tightly shut them, blindly looking up at the ceiling. 

Worry crossed Lucy’s face. “Doctor Carter, are you okay?” 

Seconds later, John leaned over the edge of the seat, more and more until he collapsed to the ground. 

Unhesitatingly, she shot out of her side of the booth and came to his aid, kneeling on the floor. Lucy checked his pulse; it was slow. For once, just out of apprehension, she called to him by first name. “John?” She didn’t get a response. Lucy looked up to one of the waitresses. “Go across the street and get some help.” 

* * *

“Carol, have you seen Carter?” Mark asked. “I wanted to update him on Gant’s status.” 

“I think he and Lucy went across the street. How is he, anyway?” 

“He just went up for surgery. Stable, though.” 

“Hope he stays that way,” Haleh said with disdain while reaching out to hand Mark a new patient chart. “I have a few choice words to give that damn–” 

“Haleh…” Mark slid her a stern look. 

The corners of Carol’s eyes crinkled as she spoke, “I thought you didn’t like Carter.”

“I don’t,” she lied. “I don’t like what Gant did to him either,” That part was true, and she was putting it mildly. Haleh gave Mark her full attention once more. “Patient in three; says his lower abdomen’s been hurting for a week.” 

“Alright, I’ll check it out. Let me know when he comes back.” 

She leaned over, past Mark, to get a better view of the two people was coming in from the Ambulance Bay. Her eyes flew open when she saw just who they were. “Uh, Mark?” 

“What?” He turned to see what she did, and once he had, Mark’s stomach twisted into knots. 

Lucy, as best as she could, held John up with one arm around his shoulders and the other around his belly. John was conscious enough to know what was going on, but only just. His bleary gaze flicked from one face to another, barely discernable in the moment. 

Mark grabbed hold of a gurney and pulled it towards them. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Lucy answered, voice shaking to an extent. “One second, we were talking, the next… he passed out.” 

“How long was his LOC?” 

“Barely a minute.” 

“Did he hit his head?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Okay,” Mark leaned forward to get a closer look at his face. “Carter? Can you hear me?” 

At first, he mumbled a bunch of nonsense. As the seconds passed, his eyes met Mark’s. An exhalation huffed out of his nostrils as he moaned out his answer. “Hi.” 

“Hey. Do you think you can get on this gurney or do you want us to help you?” 

John shook his head, put his hand on the gurney and slowly eased himself on the mattress. Once he got situated, he laid down with a contented breath. As crappy as those beds were, he was glad to be off his feet. 

“Did you get a set of vitals, Lucy?” 

“Just the pulse. Brady at forty-seven.” 

“Jus… a lil… sslow,” John said, voice slurred from fatigue. 

“A _little_?” Lucy incredulously shrieked. She gave Mark an intent expression, then added, “He was hyperventilating.” 

“Makes sense,” Mark nodded along with his words. “His body’s trying to get his heart rate to increase,” He pulled up on the guard rail on his side, Lucy doing the same on hers. “Carter, you’re not starving yourself again, are you?” The only response Mark received was a sluggish shake of John’s head. “No? You sure?” 

Through his trembling body and quickened breaths, he managed to counter with a retort. “Don’t believe me?”

“I’m just trying to understand why it’s getting bad again.” 

Rather than argue, John shut his eyes and ignored the entire thing. 

“Lydia, is Trauma Two clear yet?” 

“Not yet. Housekeeping is still working on it, and Trauma One is ocupado,” Lydia tilted her head back to the exam rooms. “Exam Four is open, though.” 

Just as they were about to wheel him in, John slowly uttered something that stopped them in their tracks. “Uh-oh.” 

Panicked, Lucy eyed him. “What? What’s wrong?” 

John was in pain. He squinted, trying to figure out where it came from. Once he had, he rubbed his lower belly, which only increased the discomfort. “Cramps,” he replied, wincing again. “And a headache.” 

“Oh, crap!” Lydia exclaimed unwittingly, her unblinking stare fixed on John. She thought everyone was joking around. 

“You too?” he ventured. By now, however, it didn’t bother him anymore. A hint of resignation mingled with his words. “Nothing’s sacred.” 

“Carter?” There was a tinge of curiosity in Mark’s tone. “Am I missing something?” 

“Nope. In fact,” With lanky arms, John vaulted himself over the gurney railing with as much grace as a newborn giraffe, knocking some items off the side table next to the lounge entrance. He bent down to pick them up, and as soon as he straightened out, another bout of dizziness overwhelmed him. This time, however, he stayed on his feet, aside from staggering backward. He swatted away Lucy’s helping hand and gave the lapels of his doctor’s coat a tug. “In fact, I’m _fine_ ,” he continued evenly, as though nothing happened. “I’m the last person you should worry about. Dennis–” 

“Is in surgery,” Mark finished. “Just brought him up.” 

“What?” John’s voice rose in pitch, becoming increasingly annoyed. “Why didn’t anyone get me?” 

“I was going to. You were busy, and then I couldn’t find–” 

“What room?” he butted in swiftly. 

“Carter, you’re obviously not doing well. Let us check you out, okay?” 

“What room?” John asked a second time, his annoyance clear and distinct. 

“OR Three,” he curtly answered. For a short time, Mark watched him stride off anxiously until he spoke up again. “Carter?” 

He stopped, not responding. 

“Is there something we should know about?” 

_You have no idea_ , he wanted to say. There was a lot he wanted to say, but couldn’t. Not here, not now. There was already enough craziness to deal with. Then again, crazy was where he lived these days. What was a little more? Regardless of the reasons why he should, he decided not to tell the truth. 

At last, he trundled in a circle to face Mark, expressionless and still fatigued. “No. It’s nothing,” he lied, and rubbed his knuckles against each other. “Can I go now?” 

“Yeah,” Mark’s brow furrowed, alarm bells ringing in his head. He knew when John was lying. The mannerisms gave it away. Nevertheless, he humoured him. “But I don’t think you’ll get anywhere.” 

“I can still try.” 

With that, John raced to the elevators. Unbeknownst to him, Carol was close behind. He didn’t notice until he heard her voice. Still, he pressed on, stepping into the lift, and just before the doors closed, Carol slapped her hand down on the side of it and it slid back open. 

“Carter, I’m sorry.”

He cast only the slightest of glances to the woman before returning his focus on the buttons and pressed one. “It’s okay.” 

The door’s closing was once again interrupted, except this time, Carol slipped in to join him. 

“No, it’s not,” she said with a strained voice, somewhat worn out from trying to keep up with him. Carol pushed the stall button. “You trusted me enough to confide in me and I broke that trust. I want to make it up to you.” 

His eyes narrowed as he studied her thoughtfully, wondering where she was going with this. John then asked, “How?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. But for now…” 

No more words were spoken. Carol simply stood on her tiptoes and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck in a friendly hug. It stunned him for a second or two. Hesitant at first, John’s hands hovered above her back, uncertain if it was appropriate to return the embrace. In the end, realising just how good it felt to be held by a friend, John settled his hands on the small of her back, drew her in close and hugged her tight. 

“Don’t get used to this, Carter,” she uttered, voice muffled against his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” The word was choked out in a nervous chuckle, barely able to contain his emotions. 

She pulled away and wiped tears from her eyes. It was difficult not to feel for him. Even though she didn’t show how much she cared for him, until that moment, she couldn’t stand to see him so broken and scarred from everything he had to deal with in the last ten days. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Carol assured him, almost whispering. “Maybe not right now, but eventually. It’ll be okay.” 

He gave her a knowing smile, in spite of his red, puffy eyes welling up. John inhaled sharply and huffed it out just as so, and laughed mirthlessly. “I told you it was complicated.” 

With a humourless snicker of her own, she said, “Yeah, no kidding.” 

John laughed again; this time it was genuine amusement. It lasted five seconds. “Are you coming up with me?” 

“No, I only boarded to apologise, but if you want me to–” 

“No, that’s okay,” The sorrowful tone in his voice stated otherwise. “They probably need you downstairs.” 

“Course they do,” Carol smirked cheekily. “I’m a nurse.” 

“One of the best.” 

“They’d be lost without me.” 

Once more, John smiled, albeit a pensive one. He rested a palm on Carol’s shoulder, silently thanking her for being so kind, and forgiving her for making the mistake of telling Doug, the one person who can’t keep a secret to save his life. If he had to be upset with anyone, it was Doug. But he’d deal with one hugely messed up man at a time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another ending with Carol and Carter. I just wanted more with those two. They never really got much screen time on the series, and when they did, it was often subtly sweet moments that I adored.


	3. To Call For Hands of Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment everyone has been waiting for, I think? Also, it’s my first time writing Corday and Romano, and it probably shows. I tried. I do better with Mark, Carter, Benton and Carol, I feel, but again, I tried my best. Hope y’all enjoy.

Dealing with the brachial plexus was not an easy process. Mobility in his right arm was limited as it was, after being shot, and the brachial artery was not something you’d want to nick. One slip up and he’d either never be able to use that arm again or he’d bleed out.

Carefully, they worked, but not without a bit of effort or gossip.

“Shirley, can I get some more suction, please?” Elizabeth asked.

Keeping quiet, she cleared the area of blood, and Elizabeth continued on. 

“I’ve seen this guy before,” Robert mused out loud. “Doesn’t he look familiar, Lizzie?”

“Mark did say Peter knew him. Perhaps he stopped by the hospital?”

Finally, after minutes of not saying a word about the man she felt nothing but more than a bit of anger, she took it upon herself to step in and spoke up. “He used to work here. You walk by his memorial every time you go to your office, Doctor Romano.”

“Really? Well, Shirley, aren’t memorials are usually for the clinically dead?” he remarked, deadpan, cutting further into Dennis’ shoulder. “Last I checked, he’s moderately alive. For now. So unless this guy is a compulsive liar or has a bigger ego than I do–”

“Oh, he admits it!” Elizabeth retorted, smiling behind her mask.

“Funny, Lizzie. Very funny. I’ll remember that next time you ask me for a favour. Seriously, though, I’m curious. ‘ _Used_ to work here?’ What, did he fake his death or something?”

“Why would he do that?”

“Actually, I think he did,” Shirley replied. “Around two years ago, Benton and Carter tried to help him — or someone else, I guess — in the ER. The story was he jumped in front of the El while it was in motion.”

“Ooh,” Robert uttered, now intrigued. “Bit of soap opera drama. Guy fakes his death, comes back years later, kills a woman and another man–”

“I’m sure it was in self-defence,” Elizabeth interjected, but was ignored.

“Meanwhile, the other is still in surgery, clinging to his glock forty-five as he heads for a white light as we speak.”

Sharply, she demanded, “Are you suggesting that he’s responsible?”

“Well, either that or there was, coincidentally, a completely different shooting in _Cook County_ going on at the same time, which, although _not_ uncommon, I don’t buy. So, tell me, Elizabeth, why are we bothering with him?”

Without really thinking, she blurted out, “Because we owe it to Carter.”

“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” he thought aloud, muttering. “Pray tell, what does Saint Carter have to do with this?”

It was bad enough she admitted something that was clearly meant to be personal. Now, she had to find a way to make it a little more difficult to follow. She chose her next words carefully. “Well, Carter knows him as well, and… they're extremely… close.”

Shirley chuckled in a way that said Elizabeth’s explanation was an understatement. She, along with most every else in the surgical staff, knew the two of them had something going on between them. The only person completely oblivious to it was Peter.

Robert knew what that meant, however, and had no problem being his usual self whatsoever. “Close… In other words, smoking each other’s sausages.”

Flustered, she shifted her weight slightly and stammered out, “I h- _highly_ doubt that–”

“Relax, Lizzie. I’m kidding. I’ve seen him with more women than there are in a brothel on the weekend,” Robert held out a gloved hand and said, “Eleven blade.”

All Elizabeth could do was stare at him blankly, briefly stopping her from operating. _How can one man be so bloody impossible_? she wondered to herself. Seconds passed. Elizabeth snapped back into focus, determined to save Dennis, no matter what the circumstances.

* * *

With the sluggish movement of a sloth, Peter came out of the operating room. It never gets easier, he thought. A harrowing surgery for sure, and for all that, it was for nothing. The patient bled out and died. A black woman, barely in her thirties, shot in the chest. He had heard she wasn’t the only one.

He slouched over the main desk, staring blankly at the form handed to him by the nurse there. 

“Rough surgery?” a man’s gruff voice chimed in from behind.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. It was Anspaugh. He didn’t expect to see him. He slowly turned to her and looked at him with a faint expression of disappointment. “Hey. Yeah, it was. What are you doing here?”

“With all these damn shootings today, the surgical staff needed an extra pair of hands. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Another day at _County_ …” he intoned with a disappointed sigh.

“Right. At least you can say it never gets boring, eh?”

John made it to the surgical floor. Though an unreadable expression rested on his face, he was miserable yet panicked. Blood remained on his clothes, shifting to a dark crimson as time went by. By now, he couldn’t care less. As he hurried his way through the doors, reeling from the afternoon’s events, he noticed Peter at the other end.

“Oh, my…” Anspaugh uttered in shock.

Peter glanced at John down the way, thinking nothing of it at first, and continued signing paperwork. It wasn’t until he did a double-take that he noticed the man’s miserable state. His breathing stalled for a moment, eyes widening. “Carter?”

“Is he still in there?” John shouted from afar.

Peter dropped what he was doing and rushed towards him. He gave him a careful once-over. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No,” John swiftly answered, swatting Peter’s hand away. “Is he still in there? Is he dead?”

“Slow down, son. Tell us what happened,” Anspaugh asked, “Were you in the field?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. The blood must’ve been from carrying–” He almost said Dennis’ name, purely out of habit. Partly relieved he didn’t, partly wondering why. Why bother hiding it? Dennis was at _County_ ; it was bound to get out sooner or later. John chose sooner, but only to Peter. He could handle Anspaugh later. “Doctor Anspaugh, could you give us a minute, please?”

He was sceptical, to say the least, but he wasn’t going to argue with him. Anspaugh could tell he was distraught, and he knew that Peter could always calm him down. “Of course,” he spoke in carefully spaced words. “The ER called for a consult anyway. No doubt another GSW.”

“Probably,” John let out a mirthless laugh. He waited until he lost sight of Anspaugh, even craning his neck to make sure he rounded the corner. A last, he intently stared Peter in the eyes and asked, “Do you know who’s in there?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders and appeared confused. “No. Should I?”

He started to tell him, yet he couldn’t. Not even a little bit. The idea of seeing Peter fly off the handle scared him. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but even so, the thought of it, the unease that would come with it sat in the pit of his stomach. For all that, he sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly and explained, “It’s Dennis. Gant. He uh… He was shot.”

For a moment, he almost believed him. Then he figured he must have been joking, cruel as it might have been; maybe something to do with the pregnancy. He’d heard of pregnancy brain being a thing, but he thought he would see where this was going before making any assumptions. Peter’s features hardened as he tightly crossed his arms. “What are you talking about? Gant’s dead. I was there. We both were.”

“I know.”

“Carter–”

“It wasn’t him,” John said with a slightly rueful wince. “I know, I should have told you sooner.”

“You’re serious?”

Whilst nodding, his mouth worked soundlessly to pronounce the word, “Yeah,” John looked at the floor, hesitating to go on. He knew he had to. “Came back two years ago.”

“Two years,” Peter echoed in drawn-out incredulity. A scoff unwittingly escaped from his lips, too deep in thought to notice. His eyebrows drew together. “You knew this the whole time?” he asked. He didn’t know what else to ask.

“No, I only found out last week.”

“Why did he wait for so long?”

“I suppose he was trying to find the right thing to say or waiting for the right moment…?” John hazarded a guess.

Then it finally dawned on him: last week. _Last. Week_. His stomach turned, just a little. “Carter,” Peter began in as even a voice as he could manage. “is he–?”

Without another word, John simply shot him a look that begged the question, ‘ _What do you think_?’

Hopeless and frustrated, he sighed, wishing he could slap some sense into him. “Oh, man. How stupid can you be?”

John’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“You just let him back into your life like that?” Peter sharply demanded. “Carter, he–!” There was a short moment’s paused, long enough to calm himself down and not lose it around others. Without warning, he took John aside into an unoccupied OR to talk more privately. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, wiped his face with the same hand and let it fall to his side. “He lied to you, man,” he went on. “For two years. He lied to you, he lied to me, he lied to everyone here!”

“He’s trying to make up for everything.”

“Yeah, it shows,” he muttered. Peter couldn't help but wonder aloud, “What is it, man? The manipulation, the way he lies? What do you see in him?”

He tightened his jaw, clearly angry, and at that moment, John decided against divulging any further. “You know what? I don’t need to justify any of this to you.”

With that, John headed for the door.

“Answer me, Carter!”

He stopped and stood still, quivering with emotion. Sobs just about came but he didn’t let it out. John scrunched his eyes shut, forcing tears to fall. Eventually, he turned to the man and said, “He cares about me, alright?” Briefly, John paused to allow himself to stop crying. He sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “I know his leaving says otherwise, and I know it’s all happening so quickly, but… it’s Dennis. I know him, I’ve _lived_ with him. Being with him felt right. I can't explain it. But right now, all I care about is him getting through this, so I can,” John strangled the air. “ _scream_ at him!”

“If you don’t, I will,” Peter smirked, humourlessly. “Listen, Carter, I know you think this is–”

“Doctor Benton, I have a really bad headache, and honestly don't want to talk about this any more. Just let me go to him.”

He took one glance down the hall, back in the direction he came from, then returned his gaze to John. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, why the hell not?”

“I think you know why,” As Peter got the sad puppy dog expression John knew how to do all too well, he rested his hands on his hips like a parent, or, in this case, older brother, who was disappointed with their youngest. “Carter, you’re not a surgeon anymore. You know that.”

“I don’t care!” John’s voice grew louder, something he rarely did. It was called for. His friend was in trouble, and an innate need to get him through it took over. “I know what I’m doing.”

He stepped in front of John, preventing him from doing anything stupid. “Carter, come on, man. Be reasonable.”

“You be reasonable! Get out of my way!”

“Uh-uh,” Peter leaned toward him, so close John could smell the fruit salad he had for lunch. “You’re too close to this, Carter. Let them handle it.”

“Fine, but I should be there. He and I–” Rapid, shallow breathing came in gasps, cutting himself off. It became harder to focus on the man before him. He felt like he was losing his mind.

“Carter,” He gestured to the door and calmly went on, “let’s go.”

John clenched his interwoven fingers, cold and clammy hands clasped behind his back to keep from shaking. “Where?”

“Waiting room,” Peter curtly replied as he pushed the door open. “Come on. Somebody might need the room.”

For a brief moment, John stared blankly at him, struggling to keep his head. He could easily breeze past him and make a mad dash for OR Three as soon as he stepped out if he truly wanted to — and he desperately wanted to — but grief and dread had him frozen in place. Then, with a shaky exhale, John nodded his assent and ambled out of the room, all the while tightly holding his stomach with folded arms, as though holding himself together. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Peter was behind him. It made him somewhat relieved. At least he wouldn’t be totally alone.


End file.
